A Minor Infestation
by Roxas Destati
Summary: When it came to mole infestations, most people were burdened with the destructive little beasts in their yards. For Kyle Broflovski, the infestation in question instead resided in his attic of all places. (Mature ONESHOT)


When it came to mole infestations, most people were burdened with the destructive little beasts in their yards, but for Kyle Broflovski the infestation lie in his attic.

He supposed to was hard hitting to say that the male was an infestation but he wouldn't take back the fact that he was indeed a destructive little beast. But not just for yards. It was his life that needed guarding, his every day routine.

It was middle school when Kyle was faced with the odd fork in his life, one that involved his mother standing in the hallway with a very much filthy and disgruntled looking teenage boy around his own age. The sight was enough to give him pause and raise his eyebrows in wonder. After all, he hadn't seen much of The Mole since elementary school. But there stood Sheila in all her busty motherly glory bravely patting snow and dirt from messy brunette hair and tanned cheeks.

"Goodness, what a mess." she murmured, fussing as usual.

A moment later and she was glancing up at her lanky son as he continued to stand there confused and possibly gaping a little over the irritable boy allowing his mother to-.. well, _mother_ him.

"Oh Kyle, there you are sweetheart. I was just about to call for you. Be a good boy and go fill up the tub upstairs with some nice warm water. Our guest seems like he could use the scrub."

The guest seemed like he'd rather jump ship than bathe actually, if that grimace was anything to go by. But there was exhaustion in his eyes, no real fight to be had.

And.. maybe the start of a black eye?

"Uh.. Yes ma'am." The ginger disappeared up the stairs quickly enough followed by a resounding "Gerald!" before disappearing into the hall bathroom. Confusion brewed inside him, churning and hungry for answers but he let them settle for the time being, focusing instead on turning the taps and putting a fresh towel on the rack. The seconds dragged on by as the water gushed from the faucet to fill the space with Kyle perched absently on the ledge, wondering if he'd get answers if he wandered back downstairs. But the water was filling up and there was no telling how long it would be before Mole was actually sent to-

The redhead didn't have to wait much longer even as the thought sprang to the surface. The bathroom door swung open rather unceremoniously with the weary brunette in question stalking inside to shut it behind him. A moment of silence passed between the two and an odd nervousness suddenly filled his gut as the others brow knit ever so slightly. The skin around his eye really was swelling, angry and red as a bruise began to blossom beneath the skin with the dark blue of another mark near his jaw spreading ever so slightly that he'd missed the first time.

What had happened?

Oh fucking hell he was staring.

Kyle scrambled to his feet. "Shit, sorry dude. I was just-"

"I do not care."

The weary tone lacing the voice of someone as young as thirteen gave him pause but the Mole himself didn't. Instead, he stepped toward the tub and began shucking off his tattered camouflage green jacket that was barely recognizable at that moment beneath the caked mud. Worn hole riddled socks came next- _mom must have made him take his boots off at the door_- and then the dark green tshirt that had obviously seen better days.

It occurred to him that he should probably leave, the other boy was undressing after all, but instinct told him _stay, stay with him_. And so despite feeling like a total creep, he lingered on even after the dark cargo shorts were gone- _jesus fucking hell it's freezing outside-_ and after the underwear. There were marks everywhere, large nasty bruises already black and purple and furious in their pain he was sure. His ribs seemed like they'd taken the worst of it, the sight enough to make him feel ill at ease. He almost raised a hand to help the other into the tub when he wobbled ever so slightly but one halfhearted glare stopped the gesture instantly.

"_Do not_."

His point was made and it stood loud and clear. Do not help me. Do not pity me. Do not. Do _not_.

He settled into the water grimacing and in pain but silent. Not a single swear. Not a single curse at God.

And that _bothered_ him more than anything.

Another minute and he was leaving the bathroom despite his gut.

Another minute after that and he was downstairs, ready to investigate.

It was then he learned that Christophe "The Mole" Delourne was to be staying in their home, in their attic more specifically. Sheila was hurried to explain to him to be 'nice to Christophe' as she put it, that there had been a car accident, that his mother seemed to be in the hospital with no one else to call.

"I was there," she'd said. "I saw that poor woman try to drive into oncoming traffic and total the car when I came out of the grocery store. Pulled her out in _hysterics_ and screaming about the devil no doubt!"

Evidently, the older Delourne had a long history of sporadic episodes involving her having possible severe schizophrenia and a few other illnesses. She'd been convinced that night that her son was going to kill her, that he was in league with the devil and was determined to send him to God where he belonged. His chest hurt as he listened, the severity of her words both flying over his head and sinking in his gut. Sheila had gone so far as to be a witness at the police station about the whole affair and fought tooth and nail to take the French kid home while his mother was admitted to a medical hospital to be treated for the car crash before she would be moved to one for her mental health. At first, she explained, Christophe had been heavily adverse to the idea but 'a little motherly persuasion' worked out well enough.

It'd been nearly an hour since he'd put the other in the bath before the conversation when the redhead decided to run back up the stairs.

_Do not._

Even his young mind knew suddenly the meaning of those words, the history that lay behind them. Was it always that bad or had it gotten gradually worse since they were kids? He had no way of really knowing unless the other boy told him but even as he shoved his way into the bathroom, the questions never made it out of his mouth. The Mole looked at him from the tub, brow knit and clearly irritated but he knew, they both knew that he knew that Kyle had heard what had happened.

But Kyle didn't say a word.

Instead he purposely pulled a face. "Lazy ass, come on and clean up." Christophe didn't seem like he'd even tried to wash his hair or face and instead glared at him from where he lounged in the water.

"Non, beetch. Leave."

He rolled his eyes, closed the door and advanced on him. Nudity didn't bother him at the moment nor did it dissuade him from kneeling at the side of the tub. Christophe had all the same parts he did after all, so what did it matter?

That night, they fought like cats and dogs, swearing and fussing at one another but in the end, Kyle bathed him like a child with no physical resistance to match the verbal assault. Hindsight told him later that it might have been that the other boy was relieved to have him fight with him. To bicker instead of worry the way that he did secretly in his gut. In the end, Mole stayed.

And so the real 'infestation' began.

It began simply enough actually, both boys spent most of their time apart with Mole up in the attic and Kyle below in his bedroom. Most of his time was spent on Steam, fucking around with Stan playing whether online or on the little TV in his room or going out and getting up to ridiculous antics with his friends. Other times were spent on homework and the like, appropriately enough with a mother like Sheila vying for good grades from her eldest son. A month passed and the other was forced into home schooling (oh boy was she pleased to find out he'd been ditching school entirely since the start of middle school) to catch him up while life went on. He even eventually joined them at the dinner table several nights of the week now.

Then the squabbling had started with Christophe randomly popping up to pester the shit out of him and evidently back to his usual self. Months bled into years with some nights filled with Mole purposely stomping his feet _directly above his room_ to piss him off and lead to Kyle knocking the ceiling with an actual broom handle screaming, "Goddammit knock it the fuck off, asshole!"

There had even been a whole month where he purposely played music that Kyle _hated_ to aggravate him. It wasn't even loud either. Just low enough to be subtly heard to irritate him. Complaining to his mother had done nothing, after all, it wasn't _that loud_ she'd pointed out. It wasn't bothering anyone else. When the day came that he suddenly discovered he was mumbling the words along to a Barbara Streisand song, all hell broke loose. When he'd stormed upstairs, however, the music had been off and the brunette had shrugged and claimed to have no idea what he was talking about. The fist fight that followed ended with the fifteen-year-old redhead grounded for three weeks, no phone, a split lip, and a sprained wrist when he fell into the table. Mole had looked almost satisfied.

But the music stopped.

The odd sounds in the middle of the night now and again to get his attention never did quite end though.

He heard his parents question it one night while heading to bed.

"_Sheila honey, what's that noise?" _

"_It sounds like a dying giraffe, Gerald."_

His pillow was used to stifle his laughter and he eventually wandered up when it didn't stop.

The other guys adjusted to the Mole being there over the years. Stan was disgruntled at first (mostly because the brunette would purposely invite Gregory over some weekends while Stan was hanging out just to rile him up a little) but came around. Kenny hung out with them both, sharing a smoke up in the attic with the brunette- Sheila could never find out of course- while the three of them swapped stupid stories. Many between the two were about things they'd snatched or stolen, or places they'd found themselves in and how they'd gotten out. He felt a little boring in comparison but he still had his own stories to tell. About the basketball team and how he threw a firecracker into Cartman's shower from the bathroom window with Stan while he was washing up once. It was actually the first time he'd heard the other boy laugh loudly and fully.

"_I bet zat fatass couldn't squeeze his ass out of ze door fast eenough_."

Kenny had been wheezing he was laughing so hard.

At night, Mole began to slip out a lot and get up to whatever it was he got up to at night. As they grew older, it grew more frequent but he always found that while he never bothered to disguise it from Kyle, or even the younger Broflovski, he was careful and particular when it came to his parents. At one point he had wondered if it was out of fear but when questioned about it, Mole had simply shrugged. _"I like zem_." He'd said. _"Zey try."_

It was then that he realized it was respect.

And in a way, he respected Mole as well, even if he was some weird night criminal on the sly.

With the coming of high school, dating eventually came around in turn. It had come as a surprise when Bebe Stevens suddenly asked him out. In retrospect, maybe it hadn't been entirely too shocking. Kyle had grown into a height he was proud of and even though he'd inherited his mother's nose after all, it sat well on his face. And basketball and the sports of his childhood had helped his physique a little, filling out his teenage lanky scrawniness. He wasn't bad looking, he figured. And Bebe was cute and not currently dating Clyde so..

He'd said yes.

The others congratulated him, slapped his back and laughed of course. There was the usual high school drama sprinkled here and there- after all she'd been dating Clyde a long time- but nothing severe or damaging compared to what it could have been. He'd handled it all pretty well, steered things from getting ridiculous and even managed to keep his temper down when arguments popped up. But in the end something else had bothered him, a comment Craig had made absently at the lunch table.

"Yeah, about time you got yourself a girlfriend. We were all starting to wonder if you're gay or something."

The comment brought a pause within him but instantly Stan was on the defense, arguing then apologizing all at once. Telling Craig he was a total dick, yelling that he wasn't homo, and then suddenly switching back to ,"Oh no man, but if you were we wouldn't have cared. You just never seemed interested in the girls like ever. Not since like, Rebecca in elementary school."

"And Red in middle school for like, a month." Kenny had pointed out.

"Yeah that."

"Wait, didn't you fool around with her a little?"

"Woah, you fooled around with Red?"

Kyle couldn't remember what he'd said, he was sure it had come out irritated and maybe a little defensive but the conversation still never really left him.

Because it had been true.

He never really did think about the girls.

It wasn't as if he didn't have the occasional wet dream about them growing up, about breasts and the 'things down below' but that was mostly where it had all stayed. Just occasional and in his dreams. Then there was a brief recollection of the incident back when he was fourteen and woke up sweating and searing all over with puberty and the remnants of a different kind of dream. One that starred his baseball playing best friend.

At sixteen the star of the show was the occupant of his attic.

Kyle didn't dare to mention it. Not when he didn't really understand it all full and well himself.

Not when despite all that, he didn't mind it when Bebe kissed him. It was soft. Warm.

Kenny had been quiet much of the conversation, something that didn't go missed by the redhead. The blond lived for debates about sex and sexuality and though Cartman was busy making enough comments to make his own ears red, Kenny was spaced out and thoughtful. It was a week later when the blond suddenly stopped him on the way home from a movie that only the two of them had been interested in that he spoke his mind.

"Maybe you like both."

"What?"

Kyle had stopped, brow knit and curious. Kenny had stared at him a moment before pulling the hood of his orange jacket down to give him his full attention. _Oh hell_, he'd thought_, he's being serious_. A crooked smile had wound its way on his face. "I'm sayin', maybe you like both boys _and_ girls. Or maybe you just don't have a preference."

"Kenny-"

"Look man, ya've stared at Craig Tucker's ass before don't even lie."

His lightly freckled cheeks had burned. "It was once and an accident. I wasn't paying attention."

"Sure, man." A laugh. "But shit Kyle, it's fine. Maybe ya don't even have a preference in like, gender entirely, like it doesn't matter or something. If someone's cute, they're cute. Who cares."

An amused smile had found its way on his own mouth. "Like you? What, bisexual or whatever?"

"Woah man, I'm pansexual and I _like_ it, it's just what I've found explains me the most I guess. It's like, everyone's hot. Who the hell up an cares what's in their pants. Sure I got a thing for breasts and shit but if they've got a dick too, it's just like oh hey bonus points or something." The whole revelation surprised him but he supposed it made sense. Kenny had waved his hands absently, dismissing the words just as quickly. "I'm just sayin' that, like do whatever works for ya. Ya don't need a label or anything unless you're ready for one or like, worry. And it's nobody's business but yours. Just do you, man. Fuck all the shit, be the daywalker you are."

He'd socked his shoulder a little but in the end, Kyle had found himself smiling. It was always weird when Kenny took the position as perceptive advice giver but it happened on occasion. Stan could be really head strong and have a hard time thinking outside the box on occasion about abstract feelings, but he meant well. Unfortunately meaning well didn't always help give answers.

Dating also brought about more weird and irritating antics from the Frenchman living above his ceiling ranging from interrupted makeout sessions to sudden music blaring overhead when he and Bebe had thought they were alone. Arguments broke out occasionally but the two never stayed furious for long, simply irritated but Kyle never quite understood why. Mole grew fast as they'd aged and it showed in the rough stubble on his jaw and the premature and light wrinkles dotting the outward edges of his eyes. Where he'd grown taller and maintained a lean physique, the other remained half a foot shorter but built more solidly with muscle gained from god knows what on top of the grave digging job he'd gotten when he'd turned eighteen himself.

The tension never quite left them, especially not after one day he crept up the ladder to find Christophe himself immersed in a heavy makeout session with Gregory of all people. Both had been ruffled, shirts off and hair a mess and the sight didn't leave him for weeks. It was the first real moment he fully associated the slightly older boy with being sexual.

His cheeks burned during the scattered shameful jerk sessions he had when it roared back to life from the back of his mind and no amount of envisioning Bebe naked and writhing could stifle his vivid recollection. _Hormones,_ he'd groaned in exasperation,_ it's fucking hormones._

And so the tension grew.

Months rolled by with the occasional weird incident but for the most part, he'd grown to accept it. His eighteenth birthday drew close, senior year was here and he'd been dating Bebe a full year leaving us to where he was now, staring blankly at his phone.

I suppose that perhaps, I should stress _been_ dating.

Crying was out of the question. He was sad, a little furious- no, a _lot_ furious- but he wasn't that sad. Not enough for tears. Tears were out of the question. And he was too stubborn.

But it still hurt something nasty.

After all, it was a year.

Chest burning, he gripped his phone tightly before chucking it across the room with a small bang. He clenched his teeth, urging himself to breathe. Except, how do you not get furious when the girl you dated for _a whole bloody year_ just suddenly tells you a week prior that she's just _not that into you anymore_ and the text message keeps staring at you accusingly. Sheila had tried for sympathy and motherly fury, showing rage for his hurt feelings but in the end there wasn't much to be done. Gerald had patted him in understanding. And Christophe-

Christophe had stood there awkwardly for once. No smart ass remark. No calling Kyle a pussy. Nothing. Even Stan had called her a cold bitch but Mole simply looked far away, off. Perhaps even a little murderous, he thought.

Flopping back he closed his eyes rather restlessly, part of him rationalizing with her decision, the other simply furious for how she'd done it. After all, when you aren't into someone it's better to end it than lead them on. But.. to shut him down like that? Over text message?

He grit his teeth again before relaxing again. His knuckles were still sore from punching a tree when the shock had worn off right after receiving the message during quality friend hang out time at Stark's Pond. Hell, even Cartman had looked affronted that it'd been called off in such a way. It was rare for his old childish anger to rear up so hard but it was like a dam had broken but in the end it was a silent rage and short lived, his hand more injured than the tree when it sputtered and died out like a cheap firework.

But the buzz lingered there under his skin. Unexpressed aside from that one outburst. He wanted to be loud, to yell at her, but nah, fuck that. School was weird, everyone else whispering about it and a few pitying him while others figured they'd broken up over something dumb due to the rumor mill's poor circulation skills. This wasn't exactly how he'd wanted to start senior year.

Sleep settled on him like a sticky tangled web, ensnaring him but doing little to comfort the whirlwind of emotion caught up in his chest. He shifted around restlessly, tangled up in his sheets and brow knit uncomfortably as his dreams flickered by rapidly. Sweat broke out across his freckled skin after a time, the tangled sheets only making the heat worse. It was in the dead of night that a hand appeared and soothed the silent fit, the callous fingers gently touching his forehead. He calmed after a time before startling back to wakefulness, a strange weight casually settling on his bed.

"Who-"

"Who do you think."

His brow knit with sleep as the sheets were untangled from his legs by large rough hands. The redhead turned his head after a moment, staring blearily through the dim darkness of his room to regard the brunette sitting on the edge of his bed by his side. Another moment passed when he seemed satisfied with his work on the blankets before he laid down next to him. The full length of the Frenchman pressed against his back as he curled against him, one arm thrown over his side as Kyle's cheeks burned absently over the casually attention.

It reminded him a little of the first year Mole had moved in, how the brunette would crawl into his bed in the dead of night without a word and lie with him. There was never an explanation and only a handful of times was there ever a conversation seeing as he was nearly always too sleepy to respond. It was during one of those times that he'd ever gotten a few personal things out of him about Christophe's childhood. About his mom.

"Eet is not right, what she did to you." The statement was sudden, spoken casually with Mole's rough tone against his neck as his accent bled in the way it always did. "Eet was cold and cruel. I do not like women."

God he wished he hadn't fucking said that. Now he was faintly thinking about that day with Gregory. "No, I guess you don't." He found himself saying without thinking. A dry chuckle met his words.

"Oh ho, you are talking about Gregory. Oui, I do not like women in zat degree eizzer."

Kyle snorted, cheeks flushed hard and grateful that the other couldn't see. "You guy have been together a long time. I never really knew you were dating."

"Oh? No, we are not togezzer. We would fuck, zat eez eet. Though.. zat time was ze last I believe. 'E is buzy chasing after a fuckeeng Mormon of all things. Not a surprize, 'owever. Gregory can not turn away a challenge and zey 'ave been evenly matched for years. I zink his 'ole superiority complex has turned to some sort of twisted attraction."

A laugh sputtered out of Kyle and he rolled over to face him. "You're fucking kidding me, right? A Mormon? Gregory?"

Christophe's lips twisted into a smile that was both amused and crooked. It was handsome on his face. "Oui. And 'e is _desperate_."

"Oh my god."

Another laugh left him and part of him couldn't believe it. Gregory was a little narcissistic and unbelievably snooty. Sure, he was smart and Kyle admired that but shit could the guy be stuck up. And _snarky_. He gave Stan's cynical smartass a run for his money every time they were in the same room with his little quips at the others expense. But a Mormon? One that was evenly matched?

His laughter half choked his gasp of surprise, "No no, no fucking way. Wait, oh my fucking god is it Gary Harrison? _He's chasing after Gary Harrison_?"

Christophe's brow rose but no denial came from him. It made sense. At the end of last year Gregory had started hanging around the other blond constantly after a class project. They were both on the debate team with Wendy and himself and the two of them on opposite sides was amazing to watch. Gary was always calm, casual and a never ending river of information and quick responses to clash with Gregory's own style of talk; quick, clever, to the point and almost ruthless. It was like a one sided rivalry, he'd thought, with the Englishman constantly trying to one up the Mormon. But holy shit maybe that was like some sort of fucked up Gregory manner of courting, he'd never know.

"Broflovski."

Kyle looked up and the dark brown of Christophe's eyes met his own green hazel steadily. In all the years that the brunette had been there, he didn't think he'd ever stared him in the eyes with him so up close and personal. It was strange, stifling, _searing_.

And maybe for a reason because it was his immediate undoing.

He should have seen the kiss coming, he really should have and hell maybe he had because he was surging toward it and all at once their lips colliding in the best sort of way. A groan echoed from deep in his throat and the harsh scrape of stubble prickled his skin in a way that was almost refreshing to feel. He couldn't tell exactly where all the heat- the _electricity_ was coming from but it was igniting everything beneath his skin, it was awakening every nerve in his body and _god_ there was a hand sliding beneath the back of his shirt and it was amazing.

Those chapped lips attacked him, wandered away and back in a dizzying hungry dance that stole his breath and pulled him closer all at once. He swore breathlessly and knew instantly as the sandpaper of stubble scraped his jaw that Christophe must have been feeling that same crackling tension as he pressed full against him. Kyle's hands roamed and gripped at the shorter man, sliding over broad shoulders and gripped at worn cotton restlessly. A low growl met the new groan that was pulled from him when teeth found his neck where the brunette sucked harshly and marked the flesh. A particularly harsh suck had his breath stuttering, halting for half a second before coming back to life all at once with a hiss.

"Sheet, Broflovski." The growl against his neck ushered a shudder from him and fuck he'd never felt so goddamn _claimed_ from the way those same maddening hands were gripping, _kneading_, at his ass without pause. The brunette never seemed to miss a beat and returned every reaction with one of his own. It was the perfect flow of cause and effect and cause and effect with Kyle raking blunt nails down a toned back and Christophe hissing with a retaliatory swat at his ass to accompany.

"Holy fuck." Kyle startled slightly at the sensation, raising a brow at the other. "Did you just fucking spank me?"

"Oui, don't be a beetch. Eet eez a nice ass. Ze best."

A snort slipped free of him and he remarked without thinking. "Bebe used to say that shit all the time."

In a heartbeat he was being jostled, rolled over to his other side roughly and all at once the Frenchman ground his hips harshly up against that same ass. The action wrung a sharp gasp from the redhead and a healthy twitch from his own cock even as fingers tangled in his hair and yanked his head back where lips met his ear. "Zat beetch doesn't quite have _zis_."

And god no, she didn't and he wasn't complaining. It was strange and definitely the first time he'd ever had a dick anywhere near his rear in such a manner but it felt good, so good and his hand darted back to grip the brunette's hip unconsciously as the other gripped at his pillow with a stammering moan. He was dripping, he was sure. The precum of his cock was soaking the ever loving hell out of the front of his boxers and because of _the fucking Mole _of all people.

He couldn't ask for better honestly and realizing that both shocked him and set him at ease. After all, supposed, Christophe was the one person capable of both bringing out his worst temper and easing it just as quickly. They were evenly matched and could beat the hell out of one another at the drop of the hat without any hard feelings. It'd always been a sort of playful skirmish despite that they'd occasionally bust a nose or a lip. Those wounds were temporary, but the relief, the calm that followed lasted even when they were still a bit bitter or sore over what the other had said.

Kyle's thoughts derailed suddenly, back arching sharply as a firm grip circled around his erection through the fabric of his boxers without warning or pause. It sent a current of pleasure through him and ripped a throaty moan straight from his vocal cords. He was more than grateful that no one was home that night to hear anything.

… Maybe that's what Mole had been counting on.

"Oh ho, you are _dripping_, Broflovski," that same thick growl ground out against his ear, laced with amusement and _need_ in ways that he never expected to be so fucking pleased to hear. But he wouldn't admit that, not yet.

"F-... fuck you, Mole." Kyle grunted back to the best of his ability, cheeks aflame and spreading all the way to his ears. The hand in his hair left him a moment before the other released his cock- _shit, come back dammit-_ only to have it move to tugging his boxers down and off. A movement and jingling behind him said loud and clear that the brunette was trying to do the same with his belt and pants. It only took a second before he was shifting about, moving to face the other as eager and nervous fingers reached down to help with the struggle. His feet kicked his boxers from the side of the bed even while Christophe was lifting his hips up and doing much of the same.

An amused, unconscious thought occurred to him that not once since Mole had moved in did he ever actually wear his boots in the house. He did it at any other home they visited and didn't give two shits about tracking dirt and even now those monstrous things were missing, helping the easiness of undressing the other before the shirts followed until he was-

Oh god he was naked now.

Well, the both of them were and it was- it-..

Wow, okay his brain was shutting off.

He was a little reminded the first time he'd seen the other naked since they were younger about two years ago, the sudden short circuit of thought when he'd stumbled in on him in the bathroom. But the confused shame was missing.

"Like what you see?" A rough tease as Mole's hand found his hip. Snapping free of his daze, his wrinkled his nose at him stubbornly but no denial came out. There was no point when his body was saying clear as day what he liked, what he was feeling. "Stubborn beetch."

"Fuck y-"

"Non, fuck _you._"

Lips were on his in an instant once more and it was like that first kiss all over, all fire and heat and hunger only this time, there was something wet and warm dragging almost lazily across his bottom lip to add to the appeal. His lips parted as he met the slick appendage eagerly with his own, twining and tasting every bitter flavor the other man had to offer. Hands were sliding over his sides, scraping the skin with callouses as he delved into strange mixture of cigarettes and chocolate. Mole must have gotten into the cake downstairs for Ike's birthday and _shit_ it was a combination he didn't expect to mind.

Teeth found his lip next just as his own hands tangled into thick brown hair before yanking at the strands lightly. It was retaliation for the hair pulling before, ignoring the near growl that came from the Mole and instead moving in to attack the thick column of neck he'd exposed. The moment his teeth sank into flesh, it was all out_ war_ as their bodies twisted and bucked, grinding together in their fight for dominance. Sweat broke out on his flesh anew from the tussle before the weight of the other man was baring down on him and soon a cock was pressed to his lips.

It was startling, new and an experience he'd never thought would ever be reality. Where he was long, Christophe was thick and smelled of musk and damp earth that wasn't entirely unpleasant. On the contrary, it was dizzying and heavy on his senses as he clumsily took the other man in his mouth. There was a hiss, an absent chuckle when he went too far and gagged, and a groan of pleasure when the redhead finally found a little bit of a rhythm. It was a bit awkward given the angle with Mole perched over his head, thighs straddling his chest as Kyle craned on his elbows to meet him with mouth open and cheeks ruddy with embarrassment.

The whole affair was clumsily and messy with spit sliding down his chin from the awkward angle and the thickness he was by no means used to having fill his mouth. But for a first time giving head he had to be doing something right from the broken strings of French tumbling in guttural moans from the brunette's lips even as he gave the occasional instruction.

"Do zat again."

"Non- watch your _fuckeeng teeth_ Broflovski."

"Ah _fuck, Kyle_."

Oh god the sound of his name was fucking _doing_ things to him and Kyle could feel like legs restless shifting about down the bed from ache in his groin. And even despite the teeth he could feel him twitching from the rough treatment, pulsing and heavy against his tongue with Mole suddenly gripped his hair and pulled away, crawling off the side of the bed.

"Stay zere but get on your knees," he said when his mouth opened to question him.

"What the fuck, dude, _you _get on your knees." The protest was weak, he was already moving around a little. He went about halfway, his stubborn pride showing as he sat up on his knees but refused to bend over while Mole was ruffling around his nightstan-

His nightstand?

Of course.

_Of fucking course._

_He's going after the lube._

It was hardly a shock that Christophe even knew it was in there, after all he'd mercilessly teased Kyle for weeks when Gerald Broflovski decided to give him a talk on the basics of 'things that go with sex' as he'd put it. Lube had been part of that talk and he couldn't have been more mortified to hear about where his dad kept his.

Another brief tussle, snarky comments aplenty, and Kyle found himself shamefully face down in a pillow and a heavily lubricated finger slowly easing into him. A different hand was stroking along the length of his spine, rough and gentle all at once when he grunted uncomfortably. It was a weird sensation for sure and it only got weirder when he began to push in and out of him. The second finger was when it began to sting ever so slightly. After all, Christophe had thick fucking fingers and that fact just wasn't helping in the slightest.

"Ugh, fucking weird," his protest came muffled by his pillow.

"Shut eet."

The grueling process continued on for another minute or two, the brunette determinedly and steadily stretch him out before he finally began outright thrusting his fingers in and out of him. The count was up to three and it was that count that was drawing small gasps from him, quickening his breath and wringing it from his lungs. Holy shit it was strange but not unpleasant after a while and-

Oh.

_Oh._

_Oh holy fucking-_

He jerked sharply, visibly startled as his voice suddenly pitched without warning. Freckled cheeks went straight crimson from the crack in his voice and damn he suddenly felt twelve again and discovering orgasm for the first time. Only, it wasn't quite an orgasm, not yet and it presented his half flagged erection a sudden fighting chance to reach that point.

"Good?" There was a dry chuckle behind him and the grumbled retaliation he had ready was cut off abruptly when thick fingers jabbed at his prostate with purpose this time. He had half a mind to be mortified at the moan that came short after the jab that followed but _fuck_ it felt good. It was torture, pain and simple and the Mole didn't seem like he was going to be quick about it either as every movement of his hand was slow only sporadically becoming pointed in motion.

And then when he thought the other was finally going to be at least a little consistent, he stopped.

He fucking _stopped_.

"God_dammit,_ Mole." He wished that had come out a little more dignified rather than irritated pleading.

The sensation of something other than a hand sliding between his cheeks was enough to silence him.

"If I knew 'ow bad you wanted me to fuck you, I would 'ave done eet sooner."

Mole's stubbled chin brushed his back, pricked at him and his voice was suddenly so dangerously close his ear as he tried so very hard not to be suddenly and highly aware of the shifting and the sound of a bottle cap popping open.

"A _lot_ sooner."

He tried to think on those words, tried to delve into their meaning and the sudden idea that Christophe _wanted_ him, had wanted him for a _while_, but everything was tossed to the wayside at the pressure at his backside. The give of muscle, the strain, the stretch and slick slide of flesh. It was dizzying, painful and yet not near as bad as he'd thought it would be. Just a bit of a sting, a dull burn as he buried himself inside him.

He couldn't say he'd ever experienced anything like patience in the Mole before. Not even remotely.

But at that moment, he was. He was patient.

Seconds ticked by to minutes and he'd flagged a bit again from the adjustment. The whole process was slow going but filled with promise and little silent gestures; stuttered breath through parted lips, hands that stroked a lean torso, hands that gripped the tangled blankets, hips that made little impatient rolls, teeth that scraped at flesh with a mix of affection and aggression. Every movement led to another until finally there was a sudden, harsher jerk of the brunette's hips that signaled the coming of the end for Kyle.

They became animalistic with need almost immediately when the reaction he elicited from the Jew was only positive. His back arched and bowed as long slender hands grasped and clawed at anything within reach before settling on the headboard before him. Every slap of flesh became thunder in his ears and

fuck

_fuck_

_**fuck**_

every fucking thrust drove home in ways that drew the deepest of moans from him. That one sound erupted into more of them from the very moment he allowed the first one free- "Oui.. _oui,_fuckeeng _moan_ for me, Broflovski."- and once again he was so very grateful that no one was there to bare witness to the eldest of the sons getting his ass rammed by the rebellious and possibly dangerous French guy living in their attic.

Or at least to suffer the sound of it.

The headboard banging.

The skin smacking.

The throaty moans, the grunts and growls and demands.

His head was spinning, voice cracking and god _damn_ there was a hand on his dick now and he was going to fucking _lose_ it. Christophe's thrusts were becoming short, pointed, and slamming that perfect spot dead on as his body leaned over the long length of Kyle's own. The redhead's spread legs were faltering, knees weak but all it did was allow the other male to drive him into the bed and his nerves were on fire, hot, electric, searing and shit he was-

"Fu- _Christophe!_"

The brunette swore loudly, panted breath hitching at the sudden tightening around his cock and he himself moaned low and deep, thrusting erratically now even as the Kyle's body grew taunt as a drawn bow. All semblance of control was lost and falling apart and he knew he was shaking hard and struggling to gasp and breathe now as his orgasm washed over him. There was a voice, rough, deep, _growling_ against the slick skin of his back that formed broken words, a babble of French and the quiver of Kyle's own name.

A violent thrust and stillness. The jump of hard earned muscles straining and pressed thigh against thigh as heat stung his sore insides. The absent stroke of a large hand down a bowed spine was followed by the soft press of chapped lips as Mole withdrew from inside him.

The seep of cum prodded at his subconscious and whispered naggingly, 'Hey, remember those condoms in your drawer? Yeah, should have used those you idiot. Now you've gotta clean this shit up.'

He groaned.

"Already beetching, eh?"

"Ugh, fuck off."

It was weird being handled like a child, carefully shifted and moved to sit up. After all, he was hardly small or weak for that matter, but Christophe lead him easily enough and before long he was being shoved into the bathroom to clean up. And a half heard grumble on the other side of the door about condoms to follow.

Kyle laughed though he refused to say why.

The sheets were fucking ruined, crusty by the time he'd returned to find the other had messily yanked them off and threw them about. But Christophe himself was no where to be seen.

But.. there was the sudden sound of a dying giraffe above his head to consider.

One shirt and pair of boxers later and he was clambering up the ladder into the others space.

It wasn't fancily decorated or anything special. Sheila had kept the furniture simple and modest and when Christophe had gotten far too big for the small bed he'd dragged from his old home, he was given one bigger with an expensive mattress hiding beneath raggedy blankets. The brunette refused to throw out the dark green comforter he'd had since childhood but at least he'd caved over adding another to it. It was also funny how everything seemed to be in chaos much like his personality and yet, the one place he kept clean was the place he slept.

Kyle appreciated that fact very very much, especially once he was yanked into the waiting covers rather unceremoniously by the Frenchman in question.

Christophe tugged him down possessively, careful not to disturb the cigarette in his other hand as he circled around his shoulders. The position forced the taller boy to wiggle down to lie with his head on his shoulder while the brunette remained on his back. A little more wiggling and the blankets were secured around them to bar against the natural chill in the attic that had all his hair standing on end.

He'd only laid in his bed a handful of times in their time sharing a roof but this time was different, this a different meaning, a different sort of pound of his heart, and yet, the same. Those other times were spent as awkward preteens, fighting and kicking at each other with cold feet to distract from sad memories or strange silences. Strange silences that were perhaps just slightly more innocent versions of the one that had befallen them now.

When had he started really liking Mole? Like, _really_ liking?

He wasn't sure.

He tried to think back on different memories and laced into them the knowledge that he held now, the reason behind why he'd stopped having sleepovers in the attic, why girls- why _dating_ wasn't ever really at the forefront of his mind.

In a way, he guessed it had always been there.

It was there the first time Mole had been brought home by the police and he'd fought him all night about being so stupid and reckless.

It was there the first time he'd ever broken his leg and the other had helped him get up and down the stairs instead of his little brother (he'd been adamant, pushy even, that he was stronger and therefore more useful, the stubborn asshole).

It was there when the brunette hid away for weeks without warning after discovering in a letter than there was a chance his mother would get out of the institution. When he cracked, the rage had been astounding and every little bit of fury he'd held in over the years over the injustice he'd been inflicted with as a child came out with a roar rather than a whimper. And Kyle had listened. He agreed and sat with him as the storm passed. A day later he convinced his dad to do everything in his power to keep Mole in the house.

But the moment he should have really realized it was when his blood sugar had dropped and he collapsed without his emergency insulin nearby.

It was after a nasty argument about Bebe and Christophe's obvious contempt for her gender, something he never realized was jealousy. Though. He had thrown that particular accusation out there without quite realizing the truth behind it. It wasn't his best moment to be sure. In his irritation, the redhead had failed to realize he hadn't checked his levels for his diabetes that day. That the queasiness he felt wasn't just from guilt and the shaking not from anger.

By the time he realized, it was too late.

He ended up sitting up against the wall in the hallway shaking, pale, and too dizzy to get around.

And in his daze as an ambulance was called, Christophe had looked _afraid_ but it had never occurred to him to think on that, to ask '_how much do I mean to him?'_. After all, it was the first time the other had ever actually realized that Kyle had a legitimate condition even if it wasn't usually all that severe. He never considered to think what it had meant when the brunette had shouted almost frantically, angry from panic and all calm lost as he barked for help. Ike was fast and his insulin was located but the trip to the hospital was mandatory in the end, so sayeth mother Broflovski.

A brush of lips against his forehead, chapped and gentle, broke him from his reverie and he raised a brow at the other male. He was no closer to any answers.

But then again, having all the answers right then really wasn't all that important, was it?

Just one answer was all he needed.

".. Christophe."

A grunt, a thick brow rising to match his own.

Shit, he didn't actually know _how_ to ask. His mouth opened, uncertainly showing on his face. He was sure his palms were getting swea-

"Oui."

Okay, that threw him a little.

"Yes. Yes _what-_"

"Yes, you are stuck wiz me."

A flush crossed his cheeks and how matter-of-fact and blunt and fucking smug the other was and he tried to look anything other than embarrassed but he was making a poor show of it. Instead, he turned his head and buried his face into his shirt, mumbling "Fucking asshole."

"Fuckeeng beetch." But there was the faintest of smiles there, even if Kyle couldn't see it.

It was much later when he found out the real reason Christophe kept only his bed clean.

Out of hope that he would sleep in there again one day.

When it came to mole infestations, most people were burdened with the destructive little beasts in their yards. Kyle's was locked tight in his heart and he stubbornly hoped to keep the filthy little beast there. Where it had probably always been.


End file.
